


Choices

by Ivartheboneme



Series: Sons of Ragnar [2]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Drinking, F/M, Flirting, Ragnarssons trying to get your attention, just a little bit of blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 20:47:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11066820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ivartheboneme/pseuds/Ivartheboneme
Summary: I got a tumblr request for Ubbe, Hvitserk, Sigurd and Ivar trying to get your attention.Sorry it took so long, anon. Hope you'll enjoy it! :)





	Choices

The feast is nearing its end; more and more people disappear out into the night. The doors to the great hall open again as yet another couple skulk off and you notice that it's raining. A shiver goes through your body at the thought of having to walk home in this weather; thank the gods that queen Aslaug has given you a room at the back of the great hall. _Such a highly valued guest can't stay in a cabin at the outskirts_ , she had said when you arrived at Kattegatt. While you continue sipping at the mead a calming tune comes drifting from somewhere behind you. It is completely different from all the upbeat melodies that have been played throughout the night and it quickly envelops your mind in a soft fog. You feel yourself relax, eyes moving slower as both the mead and the music sweeps over your mind. You jump as a gravelly voice snarls right next to you.

“Are you trying to put her to sleep?” Ivar is staring at someone in the corner behind you.

“I think she enjoys my music.” Sigurd, of course. He had retreated to a corner once he had grown tired of bickering with his little brother. Ivar ignores his brother's remark and focuses on you instead. He inches closer to you at the bench you're sharing. He uses his elbow to steady himself against the table and with his free hand he grabs your wrist, bringing your hand close to his face.

“What is this?” He asks, staring at your bloodied thumb. The soft leather of his braces feels just right against your skin and your eyes widen when you see that a drip of your blood has stained it.

“Oh, I-I slipped with the knife when collecting plants. I guess the wound must have reopened.”

“I can take care of it.” He offers, gaze never leaving the red liquid. Before you can answer, he barks at a servant to bring something to clean and bind your thumb with. The girl practically sprints toward one of the back rooms and returns in no time. You try to thank her but she scurries away again as Ivar glares at her. Just as the youngest prince finishes taking care of the cut Ubbe slides onto the bench, making you turn to face him instead.

“How are you doing, y/n?” His voice is so soft and you squirm in your seat without thinking.

“I think I've had too much to drink.” You admit in a murmur.

“Do you need some fresh air?” Hvitserk asks, leaning toward you from across the table now that the man he had been talking to has left. Ubbe speaks before you can answer.

“You need water and maybe some bread. I'll go get it.”

“There's no need for that.” You turn your head blinking furiously in an attempt to clear your vision. Sigurd saunters over from the corner where he's been playing his lute. He sets a plate down on the table. Ivar stares in disbelief.

“You are giving her your left-overs?” Ivar leans closer to you, his entire being demanding that you give him your full attention.

“I would never settle for giving you what others couldn't be bothered with eating.” Sigurd scoffs at that and inches closer to you.

“Only because he wants the left-overs for himself; like the pig that he is, crawling around in the mud.” As he speaks, he runs his fingers along your collarbone and you find yourself leaning into his touch. Ivar's chest heaves at Sigurd's remark and you can see his jaws move slightly. He fiddles with his fingers as he stares at you. _Oh, he's pissed._ A shiver runs down your spine and you sit up a little straighter, moving away from Sigurd's touch. A quick glance around the great hall tells you that there are only a handful people left and most of them are stealing glances of what's happening up at the dais; curious to get a good look at the girl that the sons of Ragnar has been competing over for nearly a month. They have found you every time you've gone to the market, offered you gifts and challenged each other at the training ground to decide who would get to sit next to you at the meals. Choosing one of them seemed an impossible task. Though right now, with an almost predatory air to his posture, Ivar seems the most tempting. But...on your other side sits Ubbe. Kind and caring Ubbe who always scolds his brothers whenever he feels they go too far in their attempts to get your attention. You nearly moan as his fingers brush against your cheek. Behind you, Sigurd; with his gentle hands that you could picture tracing your body. And across the table, Hvitserk; who looks as if he will devour you given the chance. Hvitserk seems to sense your hesitation. He leans both elbows on the table, laces his fingers together and rests his chin there.

 

“You've been going back and forth for weeks now, denying us all even the smallest of kisses.” He chides. You squirm a little, not sure if he's expecting an answer or just being playfully chiding.

“I-I can't.” You finally answer, eyes cast down on your lap.

“Why? Are you promised to someone else back home; someone better than a son of Ragnar?” You wish that Ubbe would stop tracing your jaw with those long fingers of his so that you could get a chance at forming coherent sentences. You shake your head at Hvitserk's question. Ivar digs his nails into your thigh and you let out a whimper. Sigurd hisses in warning but the youngest prince doesn't retreat.

“What is it then?” Ivar growls. You had thought it impossible to feel any more embarrassed. The words fall from your mouth before you can stop them.

“I like you all.” _Oh no_. You hurry to close your eyes to avoid having to see their confused and possibly angry looks. Your confession is followed by a long silence. Someone moves, a chair scrapes against the floor. Your eyes seem to have a will entirely of their own because they open again. Hvitserk's face is just a few inches away from yours.

“Minn kœrr y/n.” He purrs. A deep sigh escapes from between your lips as you meet Hvitserk's hungry stare.

“Are you going to make me choose now?” You ask. Ubbe's warm hand wraps around your chin, turning your head to look at him.

“No.” He answers calmly. The _thank you_ that is about to leave your mouth is interrupted by Hvitserk's voice coming from the other side of the table.

“And you definitely don't have to choose just one.”

**Author's Note:**

> Minn kœrr – My dear


End file.
